


Caf & Potatoes

by propheticfire



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Crushes, Crys is the worst wingman, M/M, Wooley is a mess, space!tater tots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 23:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13200954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propheticfire/pseuds/propheticfire
Summary: Crushing on your superior officer is not advised. Especially when your superior officer is Marshal Commander Cody, and your friend is being obnoxious about it.





	Caf & Potatoes

“And I said, ‘Not gonna be easy, getting to those guns, sir––’ ” 

“Yes, and then _he_ said, ‘There is _always_ a way, Wooley,’ and then you two made out against the ruins of the bombed-out building, while the droids marched obliviously past you–– _hey!”_

Wooley picked up another fried potato round, aiming for Crys’ face this time. “Haha, _very funny.”_ He glared across the table. “That is _not_ what happened.”

Crys shrugged and went back to his food. A moment later, though, a mumbled, _“You wish,”_ came from his mouth.

Wooley let the potato round fly. “You _stop that,”_ he hissed, as Crys yelped and flinched away. “That is _not_ what happened and you know it.”

Crys rescued the potato round from where it had fallen into his lap and popped it in his mouth. “Wooley,” he said between chews, “you’ve told that story a hundred times now. I _know_ what happens.” He reached for his mug and washed the potato round down with caf. “But I also know you. And in no way does that story end in your head _without_ Commander Cody ravishing you against the wall.”

Wooley ducked his head, feeling the blush staining his cheeks. It really was that obvious, wasn’t it? Or maybe it wasn’t, and Crys just knew him too well. He hoped it was that. Crys was a little shit, but at least he could keep his mouth shut. If the Commander ever found out about how he felt, he might just spontaneously combust. Still, it had been nice, when General Kenobi had told the Commander to pick his best men to scout ahead, and he’d picked Waxer and Boil and _him_. And then when they’d split up, Cody had kept _him,_ and sent Waxer and Boil away.

_Ugh_ , but Commander Cody was such a good leader. And smart. And eloquent. What was it he’d said? _“Buildings are just buildings. What really makes a city are the inhabitants that live in it.”_ Wooley hadn’t thought of it that way before. What had it been like, before the Seps got to it? Were the streets lined with fruit vendors and flower stalls? Did little kids dart in and out of the columns? What if they’d stayed there, helped rebuild? And gotten a house, a small one, but with a beautiful painted wooden door. And he could have his own flower stall, and stick tiny blossoms in the kerchiefs of the little girls who ran by. And at the end of the day he could bring what he didn’t sell back to the house, and set it in vases around the kitchen, and Cody would be in his apron, cooking, and the house would smell amazing, and he’d turn to Wooley and flash one of his brilliant smiles––

“Commander on deck!”

Wooley scrambled to his feet, twisting toward the door of the mess and attempting to salute. His elbow brushed his place setting, sending his mug of caf cascading off the table and what was left of his potato rounds rolling away across the floor.

Fortunately no one noticed, as everyone else scrambled to stand at attention as well.

Commander Cody strode into the mess, waving his hand in dismissal. “At ease, troopers,” he said. “As you were. Just getting food.”

Wooley dropped to the floor as soon as the others began sitting down, grasping at the potato rounds around him. If he hurried, he could get it all cleaned up by the time Cody passed by their table. _“It’s not funny,”_ he hissed, as Crys snickered down at him. “Hand me a napkin, _anything_ , so I can wipe up this caf.”

A napkin was dropped in front of him, over the caf spill, and then Crys bent down to help––no. Not Crys.

_Cody_.

“Had a little mishap here, Wooley?” Cody said, sopping up the caf with the flimsy napkin.

Wooley scrambled to sweep up the rest of the potato rounds. “Uh, no sir–– yes sir–– won’t happen again sir–– sorry sir–– thank you sir.”

Cody stood and brought the soaked napkin to the trash, then returned with more. “Here you go,” he said, depositing them in front of Wooley. “That should do it.”

Wooley mumbled another “Thank you,” his face burning. He gingerly mopped up the rest of the caf, careful not to brush the Commander’s boots as he stood by the table.

“Crys,” he heard Cody say, “while I do appreciate the adherence to protocol, it isn’t necessary in the mess.”

“Yes sir!” came Crys’ clipped response.

“I’m just trying to get my food, like anyone. I don’t need undue attention.”

“Yes sir, just following protocol, sir!”

“Good man. And Wooley?”

Wooley looked up at the sound of his name. The Commander was gazing down at him, hints of a smile playing across his face. Casually, he stole Crys’ napkin off the table and tossed it down. “You ever need help with anything, you know how to find me.” He gave Wooley a wink, then turned toward the ration line.

Wooley tried not to crawl under the table as Cody’s boots squeaked on the still wet floor. He took two steps, then paused. Wooley blanched in horror as Cody lifted up his boot and peeled off the squished remains of a stray potato round. But Cody only chuckled and walked off. 

For what felt like hours, Wooley remained, frozen on the floor. But finally, he regained his senses, and he rounded on Crys.

_“You did that on purpose.”_

Crys could barely contain his incredulous laughter. He held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll admit, when I shouted attention I was just trying to startle you. The _face you made_ when your potatoes went flying…”

Wooley flung a soggy napkin at him. _“Not fair.”_

Crys continued to giggle. “I didn’t expect the Commander to come over here _at all_ , I swear. Let alone _help you.”_

“Yeah, and now he thinks I’m the most bumbling fool in the GAR, _thanks.”_ Wooley deposited the pile of wet napkins and dirty potato rounds on his tray. With a dejected sigh, he sank back into his chair. “You think they’d give me seconds on my rations?”

Crys shrugged. “Maybe.” Then a wicked gleam sprang up in his eyes. “If you need some help, I know who you can ask.” He stood up and waved. “Excuse me! Sir! Commander Cod _y_ _yye_ _eagh!”_

The whole mess turned to see Wooley tackle Crys to the ground, with a fistful of caf-soaked napkins.


End file.
